Pity the Child
by NefertariHime
Summary: A BW Megatron story. Are the Maximals really as just as they seem? Are the Predacons truly to blame for their nature? New chapter finally uploaded.
1. Author notes and Prologue

**Pity the Child**

    _Pity the child that has ambition     Knows what he wants to do     Knows that he'll never fit the system     Others expect him to     --"Pity the Child"
_

**Disclaimer: The Transformers, Beast Wars Transformers and Beast Machines Transformers all belong to Hasbro-Kenner. I don't own them, and with the attitudes of some fans, I don't think I want to. o.O The quote(s) and the title are from the musicals "Chess" and "Phantom of the Opera", which is... not mine. In chapter 3, Slash quotes from T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men". I'm making no money of this.**

_Author Notes: Gahh... BW Megatron, in my braaaiiiin... *Twitches spasmodically* Ugh... I have other stories to finish, but do you think this one cares? NooOOOOOoo! It's, "Up, up with you, Neflet, and write!" Gahh... _

*Sigh* It's born from the fact that I'd really, really like to know more about the whole political situation on Cybertron, and all we really get are a few hints in "Other Visits" and "The Agenda", so... 

Well, that, and I wanted to write a BW Megs story, seeing as he is by far my favourite Megatron, and then this nugget of joy made itself known. 

And remember to thank all the people insisting so dilligently that the G1 Decepticons are the good guys, and the G1 Autobots the bad guys, since their methods makes it possible for me to make the Preds rather sympathetic. *Innocent whistle* ;) 

*Ahem* Starts in BM, goes pre-BW and is intended to follow along from there, however far I wanna carry it. Yes, we probably will meet all the original Preds (Waspy, Terror, Scorpy...) along the way. In fact, Dinobot, Tarantulas and Scorponok have already appeared - Ranty in a cameo, but he will be back! 

***

    **Prologue: the Beginning of the End**

    _A lonely cry fills the crisp air. _

It is a haunted place, shadows snaking over the ground like demonic furies, and the dank moonlight reflecting over empty shells that had once lived. The buildings are empty, but whole, dotted here and there with a mish-mash of burn marks. One could imagine, at night, that ghosts creep their way across the roads. 

    The Moon looks down and She cries back. 

There is no movement; no sound, but the howling of a forlorn wind, eulogising that which once was there. In the distance looms, like a second moon, what seems to be a head, the burning eyes of an angry god staring down at the misbegotten Cybertron. There is nothing else here. 

    The creature dances through the mist. 

The silence is then broken by the sound of a primitive beast, scavenging its way through the dead land. It seems out of place, purely organic, and yet its stance and colours seem to indicate its native origins. It sits on its haunches, sorting through trash with clawed hands, more like paws in their brutality. 

    Noble savage that stalks the Night. 

A whirr, the sound of well-oiled machinery, and the creature jumps back, hiding in the shadows. A contraption hovers past, propellers driving it, and it is more beastly that the creature in its mindless droning. The creature fears it. 

    A monster scared by nightmares. 

The creature growls silently and stalks further into the shadows, searching new places to scavenge. It is safer here than where it came from, in the city under the angry god, but the dark ones still roam. The creature has never been here before, yet the familiarity with which it moves is uncanny. It is too primitive to understand this itself. 

    Know the memories of yore. 

But in the depths of its mind, where it is a he and where he speaks and he has a true name, there are memories of this place. But it is faint and distant, wafted away by the hurricane of denial, and shattered like so much ice. Memories that now lie broken, at the bottom of its mind, in the vague facsimile of fragile dragon wings... 


	2. Ch 1: Old News in Darkmount

... 

**Pity the Child**

    _Not much is known     Of early days of chess beyond a fairly vague report     That fifteen hundred years ago two princes fought,     Though brothers, for a Hindu throne     --"The Story of Chess"
_

    **Chapter 1: Old News in Darkmount**

"Laserblast will have our hides for this!" 

No response. 

"Megatron, are you listening to me?!" Still no response. Slash hissed in frustration, struggling to keep up with the greyish purple mech, currently rushing through the slummy streets of Darkmount. The temporary red mark on their shoulders - three connected circles - marked them as students of Laserblast's School of the Warrior Arts; the school for all high-ranking Predacons - such as Megatron - or exceptional prodigies - such as Slash, himself. This also automatically gave them slightly better status than that of the Predacons surrounding them, though not by much. 

Megatron suddenly ground to a halt, seeming quite unconcerned when Slash nearly had to fall headfirst to the ground in order not to run in to him. 

"What are you--?" 

Megatron spun, hissing, "Be quiet! Or you'll attract unwanted attention..." He nodded over his shoulder, and Slash complied, turning his optics that way. 

"Maximal peacekeepers," he growled distastefully, the gravely voice emanating from deep within his chest. "Why can't they just stay in Cybertropolis, where they belong?" 

"Wouldn't want to risk another uprising, would they," murmured Megatron bitterly, not even bothering to tone it like a question. "Now shut up and follow, _quietly_!" 

Slash breathed several things under his breath, but did as he was told; hesitantly. Slash was by no means a mindless follower, and should anyone dare to suggest it they would find a sword in an unpleasant place. He did, however, realise the importance of keeping his friend out of trouble. Megatron had a deeply annoying compulsion to cause trouble, due, in part, to his urge of proving himself to his name through various, inane actions; and, in part, to the fact that he simply liked it. Slash had asked for a reason once, and Megatron had answered, "I like the way it makes people react." Slash didn't understand it; but then, he hardly understood anything about Megatron. _The slagging, egocentric, brattish little..._

"In here!" Megatron grabbed Slash's arm and dragged him into an alley. 

"You know, I would appreciate it if you would at least tell me where we going...?" The tan robot raised a curious optic-ridge at his companion. 

Megatron smirked in reply. "What, and ruin the surprise? Nooo..." He shook his head, emphasising his strange speech-quirk. "You just have to be patient, my friend." 

Slash growled and punched the metallic wall. "I am not a patient mech! Where are we going?!" 

"Patience is a virtue...!" came the sing-song reply, as Megatron disappeared through a dark opening at the end of the alley. 

"Megatron? Megatron!" Slash made a violent gesture, clearly expressing his current feelings for the other Predacon, but entered the shadowed opening as well. "This had better not be another of those insane ideas of yours..." 

"I'm just showing you something! Try to be a little positive, Slash," drifted back at him from the darkness. 

"Positive?" Slash snarled. "I don't want to be positive. We're missing classes!" 

A pair of crimson optics shone flatly at him for a second. "Honestly, do you think we need Nebulonian Politics 3a? Honestly?" 

"Hrrrr... Maybe not," Slash admitted. The optics disappeared with a clear sense of triumph. "But that doesn't mean we won't get punished for this." Slash knew it was falling on deaf receptors, and as such, hardly bothered to do more than mutter his small protest. 

"Oh, balderdash!" came the cheerful reply. "You have to have some sense of adventure about life, Slash!" 

"There is nothing adventurous about an angry Laserblast! Primus..." Slash waited, blinking curiously into the darkness. "Megatron?" No answer. Slash hissed, "For the Pit's sake. Megatron!" He stomped forward, squinting in an attempt to see. "Where did you go?" 

Out of nowhere, hands grabbed him and yanked him back. "Be careful," came Megatron's patrician voice from behind him. "There's a pitfall right in front of you. Switch to infrared." 

Slash frowned and complied, ordering his internal computer to configure his optics. Slowly, he could make out Megatron and the room around them. And, as his friend had said, in the middle of the room a large portion of floor was missing, the hole resembling a gaping maw. "Primus! That hole looks like it goes all the way to the Core!" 

Megatron carefully stepped closer, leaning forward to look down. "It hardly reaches that far. But it reaches long enough, yeess..." 

"Long enough for what? Megatron, I am tiring of your childish secrecy! Where are you taking me?" 

Megatron grinned up at Slash, ignoring the impatient outburst. "I'm taking you down under." 

Vaguely worried, knowing that that grin could only mean trouble, Slash backed a bit away. "'Down under'?" 

A rope clicked into a shiny, and obviously new, metal holder on the grimy wall, and Megatron threw the other end down the hole. "Yes. To the lower levels." 

Slash's optics widened. "Megatron, _no_." 

"And once we get down there," Megatron continued, undisturbedly testing the rope and a pair of harness, "we catch a ride on the Cybertropolis express--" 

"The Maximals-_only_ Cybertropolis express?" 

"Honestly, how many more are there? And once we get far enough, I'll guide you the rest of the way." The purplish Mech threw Slash a harness. 

Slash hissed slowly in frustration, a low, rattling sound. "Where. Are. We. Going." 

Megatron grinned at him, once again that disturbing grin. "We, my friend, are going to Old Vilnacron." 

***

Some mechs are very nice people. Laserblast, it was generally agreed, was not. This wasn't meant to be rude, it was merely the truth. The Predacon in charge of the finest academy in Darkmount, not that that meant much, was proud to be cold, proud to be ruthless, and prouder yet of passing this on to his hand-picked students. And, being a devout Predacon, he had grand hopes for the young mech unfortunately, or vice versa, depending on your view, named Megatron. 

Banned by the Maximal Elders, feared by the common Predacon, the history of the great Megatron, the Slag-maker was virtually unknown. But the fear and hatred of the name remained, branding Laserblast's young student until he changed his name. And the young Megatron, Laserblast knew, was far too narcissistic to do so. His teacher approved greatly. What Laserblast did not approve of, however, was Megatron's thrice-damned habit to disappear whenever he saw fit. 

"Where is that slagging Maximal-spawn?!" roared the instructor, his deep voice reverberating through the halls of the academy. 

Glitch, a small femme, nowhere near as delicate as she seemed, shrugged, appearantly untouched by her employer's fury. "No idea... Y'know how he is. Sees somethin' pretty, off he goes! Usually draggin' poor Slash with 'im..." 

"Oh, no!" berated Laserblast. "No sympathy, for _either_ of them! I swear, they are weight on my grave!" 

"Loosin' your temper'll help no one," Glitch informed him helpfully. She didn't deign to respond to his glare. 

"Hah! Megatron..." hissed old Slamfist, who was rumoured to've been part of the Great War's later days. "The real Megatron would never have shown such... lack of consideration!" 

Glitch most politely held back a chortle, whilst Laserblast gave the old mech an exasperated look. "Do not start this 'real Megatron' trash with me again, Slamfist. Our Megatron is as real as the first one, perhaps even more..." 

Ignoring the screech of, "Blasphemy!" from behind her, Glitch tapped her thigh, deep in thought. "Where could he've run off to, this time?" she wondered aloud. 

"I don't know," Laserblast answered, disgruntled. "I don't understand the way that boy's mind works, and I'm not sure I want to." 

"I doubt anyone would," Glitch responded, pursing her lips in thought. "Lessee, where would he go..." 

"Nngh... What was his last class?" Slamfist asked, optics squinting at nothing. "Could that have been the cause?" 

Laserblast frowned. "Perhaps... History has a tendency to put foolish notions in his head." 

"Yes!" sputtered Slamfist messily, much to Glitch's disgust. "The child has obviously gone to cause trouble and vandalism at a historical sight!" 

Glitch gave him a funny look, while Laserblast sneered. "Don't be ridiculous, old one. Megatron lacks respect for many things, but history is not one of them." 

"And the same with Slash," Glitch pointed out, absently tapping her knee-guard. 

"But that's not the issue at hand!" Laserblast abruptly snapped. "He's missing, and we need to find him! It's dangerous for him out there! Send out a few of the head-mechs, tell them to ask around." Laserblast sighed in frustration, a terse, drawn out hiss, as his helpers went off. "If only that boy knew how many want to see his head on a plate..." 


	3. Ch 2: History Begins Today

**Pity the Child**

    _The man is utterly mad!     --"The Russian and Molokov"
_

    **Chapter 2: History Begins Today**

Vilnacron, in its present incarnation, was an impressive sight. The main city of the Predacon faction, and a thriving community of crime, corruption and politics. Beneath the streets, though, and the many winded sewers that occupied the space there, lay the past. Vilnacron in its heyday, in the after-war ruins and in the pre-splendour dreariness. 

Slash was shaken as Megatron dilligently led the two on, coming ever closer to the ruins of grandiour past, and it was understandable. Riding the outer hull of a transport as fast as the Cybertropolis express could do that to anyone. 

And now the two of them crept through dark tunnels, past abandoned buildings and over scraps still recognisable as parts of ancient robots. Slash had stared for a long time at the Decepticon sigil on that crushed arm. Megatron had hissed and cajoled, dragging him away, promising that today would change the rest of their lives, leaving defeat in the dust with those crushed in the Wars. 

Megatron, Slash reflected, respected his history, but not his ancestors. And so he followed, pulled half by curiosity and half by his friend's promises, and the farther he got, the less damage was visible. And then they were there. 

The purplish mech, having fully convinced Slash he was insane, slipped through mounts of debris before holding with an awed gasp. Slash queezed his way through and saw the glory of the past as it looked in the aftermath of bitter defeat. 

For miles it spread, ancient Vilnacron. Skyscrapers towered over dusty, metallic streets, and pathways wound their way between them. It was all surrounded by gigantic walls and, by now, defunct weaponries. And in front of the gates, spiked and looming as they were, stood a statue fashioned in steel, its silver-coating long since scraped off, picturing Megatron the First, his fusion cannon at his side, his other arm pointing to the then-Iacon and head held proudly, gazing, it seemed, directly at the two young Predacons who had dared invade the ancient sanctuary. 

Megatron, the younger one, blinked and sighed. "Awed yet?" he asked Slash, trying to regain some of his customary flippancy. 

Slash chuckled wryly and nodded, a rattling hiss making itself known. "It's gigantic..." 

"Indeed. And it is a testomony to what once was, not to mention a warning to what must never be, yeess..." 

Slash gave him a disgusted look. "Would you stop with the cryptical nonsense?" 

His friend sighed. "What I mean is that our ancestors grew arrogant in their superiority, and though one should do many things with ones inferior enemies, underestamation is not one of them." He drew in a breath to drawl out a speculative 'no', but caught Slash's expression. "And what bothers you now?" 

Slash growled, "The way you speak of the Decepticons, Megatron. I know you fault them for losing the War, but such blasphemy--" 

"--Is perfectly justified!" hissed Megatron. "This idiocy that you should not speak ill of the fools who lost us everything - _everything!_ - is outdated and oppresive. It generates fear, and while I can appreciate the manipulative facets of such a strategy, it makes it damnably hard to make a point!" 

"You talk to much," Slash sighed, looking over Old Vilnacron once more. 

"I don't talk enough, that's the problem," Megatron snapped in response. "Am I truly the only one who can see the stagnation, the tyranny we suffer under?" 

Slash shook his head in tired resignation. "No, but you are the only one seeing any solution! You've heard it too, when the Maximal peacekeepers tell us of our past. We're dangerous, Megatron. Our ancestors started and upheld the most gruesome war in Cybertronian history!" 

"History," hissed Megatron, "is written by the victors. Have we ever heard the praises to the ancient warriors? The ballads written in favour of Starscream and his Seekers? No! But we know they exist..." 

"They're banned," Slash began uneasily. 

"Exactly! They delete our past, making it a memory but; take our history to make us forget our destinies. I will allow it no longer, nooo..." 

Slash stared at his friend. Megatron tended to rave on the conditions of his kin quite often, but he had never skirted so dangerous an issue before. Nor had he ever made promises to do something about it. "What... What are you talking about?" 

Megatron started off, in the direction of the gates and the likeness of his namesake, his voice raising in excitement. "They delete our history, take our identities, but _no longer_!" 

Slash fidgeted. "Megatron..." 

"Today will change our lives, Slash! Like I promised! We will become the the greatest hope the Predacons have!" He stopped in the shadow of the statue, a small boy in the presense of a giant. 

"Megatron!" Slash tried desperately, not sure he really wanted to stop his friend. 

"We will resurrect that which was stolen! Slash," he hissed, spinning to look up at the tan mech, optics wide, "history _begins_ today...!" 

***

Surge wove through the heavy tables of Darkmount library. He was a lithe mech, coloured in shades of green and grey, and a faux-golden patch gleamed on his chest, decorated with the same pattern of circles as on his shoulder. He was one of the head-mechs Laserblast had ordered out to find Megatron. And Megatron, Surge knew, liked libraries quite a bit. 

So he hurried through the high shelves, stacked with data, searching and scouting for any sign of his fellow student. "Where is he, where is he?" he muttered, twitching in constant hyperactivity. He knew from Slamfist that Laseblast was in a foul mood, as he always were when Megatron decided to ditch everyone. 

"Find him?" Leonus asked from two tables over, golden armour seeming as dull as his mood inside the dreary archive. 

"N-no," Surge stuttered, twitching and looking around. "I don't think he's-he's here." 

"What are you looking for?" 

Surge squeeked and spun, looking up into a greenish yellow visor. "That-er... Wh-who wants to know?" 

The mech chuckled - a grating sound that did nothing for Surge's nerves. "Forgive me. I'm Darkmist, an assistant librarian. I thought maybe I could help you...?" 

Surge fidgeted more, not believing the strange green and purple robot for a nanoclick. "We-we're looking for someone n-named Megatron." 

Darkmist chuckled again. "I'm afraid you're half a war and a golden era too late." 

"N-no, it's a... student. In our school." He twitched, showing the mech the three circles on his shoulder. "He's g-gone and we n-need to find him. Have you seen him?" 

"I'm afraid that you two are the only students I've seen today," Darkmist said regretfully. "Sorry." 

Surge blinked and shrugged. "That-that's okay. There are other p-places where he could b-be." 

Darkmist nodded. "I'm sure you'll find him eventually. Good luck, both of you." 

"Thank you," Leonus growled, suddenly appearing at Surge's side, dragging the hyperactive Predacon with him. 

"Wh-what's wrong?" asked Surge as they stood outside, in the harsh light of Cybertron's recently acquired star. 

"I didn't like him," Leonus muttered, looking back at the dark entrance of the library. 

"Oh, y-y-you're being paranoid," Surge said grumpily. "N-now come on! We have work t-to do." And they hurried away. 


	4. Ch 3: Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Her...

**Pity the Child**

    _Nothing is so good it lasts eternally     Perfect situations must go wrong     --"I Know Him so Well"
_

***

    **Chapter 3: Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here**

If he squinted he could almost see the past. Like ghosts, it flitted through the streets and over the walls, voices humming at the back of his mind. Armies, warriors marching through the streets, the populace cheering... Looking up, into the darkness that shrouded upper Vilnacron, he could sense the whine of jet-engines and blots of colour as a Seeker stormed past. 

"Megatron!" 

The visions disintigrated like so many spirits, lost in the maw of time. The purple mech blinked his optics and looked at Slash. "Yeess?" 

Slash paced over to him, seemingly unaffected by the atmosphere. Megatron knew better. "It is dangerous down here," Slash growled. "I saw cracks on some of the buildings in a block to the east; this whole place is in danger of collapsing on us!" 

"Ahh, Slash," Megatron drawled, quirking a smile, "always the pragmatic. But we're not done!" 

"Hrrrr... There is nothing else to see," Slash said, resignated already. 

"Sure, there is!" Megatron cheerfully replied, hurrying northward. "We've yet to see the Imperial Palace! Not to mention the Plaza." Behind him, Slash growled and followed. 

"Idiocy," Megatron heard him murmur. "Utter idiocy." 

Sometimes Megatron had to wonder why Slash remained his friend. He was not an agreable robot, to be sure, and a common joke was that he had inherited his namesake's temper. Further more, very few would doubt young Megatron was a genius, but like most such minds, he was difficult to befriend. Yet Slash stayed with him. _Poor bloke. I must be rusting his armour by now..._

Slash hissed, looking around. "This is the dead land," he murmured. 

"Quoting human poetry, are we?" Megatron baited cheerfully. "I thought such idleness was beneath you." 

Slash ignored the tone with the ease of practice. "It seemed appropriate," he murmured absently. "Because it is; this place, it is dead." 

"No," Megatron sighed, "it is forgotten. And that is infinitely much worse." 

Slash looked at a broken monument, then looked away, frowning. "Cactus land." 

Megatron, unaffected, paced out into the Grand Plaza. A moor of stone and metal, idols of past heroes standing proudly guard over the Palace, the residency of the ancient Decepticon Court. Once beautiful, it was now half in ruins, cracks in the walls that still stood. 

"You want us to go in there?" snapped Slash, disbelieving. 

Megatron nodded cheerfully at him, turning to trot over the Plaza. 

"You are insane!" Slash hissed, running to catch up. 

"Hardly," Megatron snorted, coming ever closer the the dark opening of the Palace. "Inside, or so I believe, we can see the grandeur of the past as it once was." 

"It's a ruin," responded Slash, already knowing that the idea was well and truly stuck. "We'll be in danger of being buried alive in there! Can't you see the _tiny_ problem I'd have with that?" 

Megatron smirked, stopping in front of the entrance, heavy doors long gone. "The knowledge is worth it. It must not be lost..." And gone he was, swallowed by the darkness in the ancient building, leaving Slash behind with the ghosts of defeat. 

Slash looked back at the Plaza, at the metallic moor filled with ancient heroes of a conquered race, and sighed. _It is forgotten. And that is infinitely much worse,_ came the memory of Megatron's words. Slash looked up at the darkness, reciting haltingly from memory, "Remember us - if at all - not as lost," he paused, "_violent_ souls, but only... as the hollow men." He sighed, turning to follow his friend. 

***

Glitch looked over her class - Elementary Tactics 3c - and frowned. Still no sign of Slash or Megatron. She could understand them missing their previous class, as neither ever had been keen on Nebulonian politics, not even the very first stellar cycle, where most students could be persuaded to like everything. But tactics; Megatron, at least, loved tactics, and the idea of him missing a favourite class seemed foreign to Glitch. 

_They must've gone farther away than we thought,_ she mused absently, taking down names. "Take out your tracks and scroll to paragraph thirty. Can anyone tell me the subject?" 

"The battle of Autobot City!" a femme cried immediatly. 

Glitch smiled a bit at the gasps and instant excitement of the class. "Very good, Vape. Well, boys, ya wanted somethin' big, you're gettin' it. Starblazer, why don't you prove that you've read your homework and tell me what started the battle?" 

The black and silver mech nodded, face scrunched up in an attempt to remember. "A... An ambush, on-on... On this Autobot shuttle that killed a buncha people, right?" 

Glitch sent Vape a sharp look, as the lithe female giggled. "In broad terms, yeah, that is what happened. Anyone give me somethin' more specific?" No hands raised, not even Vape's. Glitch sighed. "Primus below..." A knock on the door startled them all. "Come in," Glitch called, half expecting Laserblast with a repentant Slash and Megatron. 

Instead the door opened to reveal a Maximal peacekeeper with a cheerful smile on his face. "Hi! I'm Suntrail, and I'm the new educator assigned to this sector by the Elders!" He strode in, seemingly oblivious to the groans from the students. 

Glitch pasted a smile on her face, nodding slightly in greeting. "Well, hello! We weren't told that an educator was vistin'. Sojourn, the old educator, always gave is a quick comm whenever he came to visit." 

Suntrail's face grew solemn. "Yes. And that's why he was removed from his post. It's a nasty breach of protocol to alert the subjects of an education hour." 

"You mean a brainwashing," Storm muttered from his spot in the third row. Glitch sent him a warning look. 

The Maximal turned and grinned happily to the class of sullen Predacons. "Oh, my, you all look a bit down and out! Did I interrupt something good?" 

"Yes, sir, you did," Vape said courtiously, recieving a number of glares for even responding. She ignored them, and continued, smirking sweetly, "But then, that's not a new feeling for your kind. I figure it's a hereditary trait." 

The class dissolved into giggling, leaving Suntrail rather puzzled. "I'm... afraid I don't understand, young lady." 

"Well, y'know," Vape said, shrugging, "we're all so dangerous and all, because we're Decepticon descendants, so the way I see it, the reason you Maximals always know how to spoil our fun, is because of your Autobot heritage." 

Glitch groaned, while the class continued snickering. 

Suntrail laughed uneasily. "Now, now, young lady. You're getting a bit too close to high treason, there. You might wanna be careful." 

"Sorry, sir," answered Vape, blinking innocently. 

"That's quite alright," chuckled Suntrail merrily. "Now I have some datatracks here for you which we'll be spending the hour with. Miss." 

Glitch started when she realised he was talking to her. "Yeah?" 

"Is everyone present?" 

"Er, no, we're missing two students. Slash and Megatron." The whole class looked at the Maximal, waiting for his reaction. 

"M-Megatron, huh?" He blinked in vague surprise. Then chuckled weakly. "Well, I bet he's quite the little troublemaker. Now," he handed Starblazer a stack of disks, "if you could take one each..." 

"Question!" Storm called, raising his hand. Suntrail gave him a curious look. "How long'll it be before we're... _indoctrinated_ into the," his voice grew mocking, "peaceful Cybertronian community?" 

"Well," Suntrail grinned heartily, "if you're good, you could be granted pass by the time you graduate this school, and get to co-exist peacefully with us Maximals!" 

"Yay," sounded flatly from an anonymous source in the class. 

Suntrail either didn't hear it, or decided to ignore it. "Now, if you'll prepare your disks and open them, we can start." He looked down at his own pad. "'The Hideous War Crimes of the Decepticons'..." 


	5. Ch 4: It Gets Worse Before it Gets Bette...

**Pity the Child**

    _You've seen one crowded, polluted, stinking town--     --"One Night in Bangkok"
_

This chapter is here earlier than expected, thanks to Albedo who reviewed my fic _twice_! W00t! 

***

    **Chapter 4: It Gets Worse Before it Gets Better**

"This is idiotic," Slash muttered to himself, absently examining a giant mural, depicting the triumph of Megatron the First on some obscure, foreign planet. His army was spread out behind him, arms raised in triumph, and the Slag-Maker himself was standing triumphantly over the body of what seemed to be the conquered ruler. A crack ran down the middle of the mural, splitting Megatron in two. Slash snorted. _Speaking of Megatrons..._ "Are you done yet?" 

"Not quite," came the familiar accented voice, sounding slightly strained. "It seems... that this door is..." a grunt of effort, "well and truly stuck!" 

"Then leave it!" Slash sighed, heading in the general direction from whence the words had come. "It's just another door, Megatron, into another room. This place is amazing, I agree, but that's no-- Megatron?" The tan mech looked around, frowning. He could've sworn the voice had come from... 

"Slash! Over here!" Megatron poked his head out of a dark corridor, covered with dust. "Come on!" 

Slash growled a few uncomplimentary things under his breath and carefully followed Megatron. "What could possibly be in here?" 

"History, Slash! Part of the history we've lost!" He strained against a large door, trying to push it open and failing miserably. 

Blinking curiously, Slash looked at the door. "How do you know? Did you find a book?" 

"Erm, nooo... Not really," Megatron muttered reluctantly, still trying to force the door open. 

Slash frowned suspiciously at him. "Then how do you know?" 

"Well, I, er..." Megatron grinned weakly at him. "I heard a little... bird sing...?" 

For a second Slash just stared at his friend. "You mean... you dragged us all the way down here, _missing_ classes, breaking who _knows_ how many regulations, because of a _rumour_?!" 

"When you put it that way," grumbled the purple mech, quite ignoring the fact that Slash looked ready to kill him. "Believe me! If it's true, it's been very much worth it, yeess! And besides, we did get a lovely little trek out of it, did we not?" 

"One day, I'm going to kill you, Megatron," Slash hissed, twitching. "One day!" 

"Not if I kill you first!" Megatron responded cheerfully, pushing still futily at the door. Slash screamed in frustration and literally jumped Megatron, but the other mech managed to scuttle away. "Temper, Slash!" 

Another hissed cry of distress, and Slash settled down, glaring venomously. "Is this the last place we need to look?" 

"Uh," Megatron looked around, then nodded, "yes." 

"Hrrr... Stand aside." Slash scowled at the door as if it were to blame, then set his shoulder against it and pushed. It moved not an inch. 

Megatron smirked. "And, er, what do you think you're doing, my friend?" 

Slash kept pushing, growling, "I'm opening the door!" Megatron, opening his mouth for a mocking comment, halted optics wide, and Slash drew back in shock. "Er... Like I said. Opening the door." 

The purple mech glared at Slash's smirk. "There's still not enough room for us to get in." 

Slash's smirk faded into an annoyed look. Sure, Megatron was right, but it was the principle of the thing. So Slash settled, once again, on blaming the door. "I'll _make_ room!" 

"My hero, yeess," quipped his friend. 

Slash ignored him and strained against the door. "Nnnghgrrr... Come on, slaggit!" And once again, it creaked and gave just a little bit. 

"Still not enough room..." 

"Shut up!" Slash braced his back against door, his feet on the rubble and dust that made up the floor, and _pushed_. The barrier creaked in protest as it was slowly, but steadily forced open. 

Megatron rested a hand on the wall next to the door, leaning forward and peering into the darkness. "There's almost enough room!" 

"Nice... to know," growled Slash, face scrunched up with effort. A final creak and the door gave enough for the mech to stumble in shock. 

"Yes. Yeess!" exulted his friend, his speech-quirk even more drawn out than usual. "We can get in now!" 

Slash gave the darkness on the other side a wary look. "Megatron, do you really think that's such a good idea? We've no idea what's in the--" 

"Then prepare your weapons, if you're so nervous," snapped Megatron in response, hardly paying any attention to his friend. 

Slash hissed and drew his sword out of subspace. "You are insane, my friend." 

"There's a fine line between insanity and genius," Megatron said humbly, before grinning flippantly and disappearing through the door. 

"Megatron!" No answer. "Slag him and all he spawned from," snarled Slash, feeling a little better from it, before following Megatron into the rancid dark. 

***

Surge trotted through Darkmount, eyeing the slum and its inhabitants with caution. In front of him, guiding him, loped a metallic lion, golden armour smeared here and there with mud and other, less savory substances. 

"Are you sure it's t-their scent?" Surge asked nervously. 

The lion growled, and shook his mane of cobber-threads. "Yes, I'm sure! Megatron and Slash, both came this way." 

"Why would t-they want t-to go-go here?" continued Surge, nearly stumbling over an unconcsious - or dead; no one cared - mech on the street. 

"Who knows how either of those two think?" growled Leonus in response, swiping at a beggar that got a bit too close. "All that matters is that we get them back to the Academy before someone blows a circuit." 

Surge remembered the echoing roar of an enraged Laserblast and snickered. "I t-think it's too late f-for that." 

Leonus growled and ignored him, continuing in the easy lope natural to felines. _Of all the places to visit, they had to pick the smelliest,_ he thought, rather annoyed. 

"Oh, such a sweet, little kitten!" 

Leonus snarled and jumped away from the thug, lashing his tail at the ensuing cackling. _Primus..._

Surge trotted after him, warily avoiding the population. "How much farther?" 

"How should I know? I just follow their scent!" 

"Sorry..." The greenish mech looked around. Murderers, thieves, beggars... Darkmount was very much the gutter of Predaconian life, and the sad part was that neither Vilnacron nor Cyklopa was much better. Surge dimly remembered a class trip to inner Cybertropolis, the part where Predacons were only allowed with a special pass. He'd stared at the museums and the academies, mouth gaping. 

"Hey, watch where you're goin'!" 

Surge squeeked and screeched to a halt. "I'm s-so sorry! I d-didn't mean to-to--" 

"Surge!" Leonus transformed smoothly, golden plates retracting and conforming, and stepped up to his friend, pulling him away. "You should be more careful! No telling what these people would do..." 

"T-they're Predacons, just like us," Surge protested weakly. 

Leonus sighed and shook his head. "Every bot for himself, my friend, just like I've told you. You can't trust anyone now a-days, and your own kind least of all." He transformed again, swishing his tail and picking up the scent once more. 

Surge twitched. _What kind of people can't even trust its own kin?_ he wondered. _Is the tragedy in us rather than our ancestors?_ He sighed, picking up the pace after Leonus. _And why can't I seem to really care?_


	6. Ch 5: All That Glitters

**Pity the Child**

    _When the crazy wheel slows down     Where will I be? Back where I started     --"Where I Want to Be"
_

Wee-hah! More early chapters, again thanks to Albedo, not to mention MeRLin. See, children? Reviewing helps. ;)   
Oh, and before anyone tells me, yes, I know Cryotek's from the RiD line, but, well... Go to www.botcon.com, look under characters, and check Cryo's tech spec. You'll see... 

***

    **Chapter 5: All That Glitters**

Ancient hiroglyphics covered the walls. Slash stared at them, trying in vain to decipher them. "We can't read this, Megatron. They haven't taught us!" 

"Nor are they ever likely to, noo..." drawled his friend. "The glory of our ancestors, and thus our past, lies in these markings. But it's not the written word I'm after." He disappeared further into the darkness, beyond the reach of Slash's infrared circuits. 

"You're being cryptic again," he informed Megatron dryly. "What are we looking for?" 

"One of the grestest lies told to us by the accursed Maximals," Megatron's voice was curt and poisonous, "is that all the legacy we were left was of the primitive kind. Weapons, statues, nothing of substance." 

"Makes sense. I've certainly never seen a Decepticon record of the war." He frowned slightly. "Which, of course, makes no sense at all. I see your point." 

"I've heard, from my sources, that the Autobots destroyed every single Decepticon record when the War ended. Except for one." 

Slash followed the sound of Megatron's voice, sword absently held ready. "Oh? And what might that be?" 

"I'm not sure." The voice was disgruntled. "But I hear that a mural of the most important wartime records for our ancestors is situated somewhere down here..." Slash finally managed to spot him; a shadow flitting through the corridor. 

"And... where _is_ here?" he asked, battling to keep up. 

Megatron ducked through a hole, and Slash followed him into a gigantic hall, their footsteps echoing loudly. "Here," Megatron said, smirking at the darkness around them, "is the very heart of Vilnacron. My namesake's throne-room." 

Slash blinked and looked to the far side of the hall. A throne, broken and deformed, stood on a daïs. "I did not think such a place existed." 

"Of course not." Megatron's voice was even more bitter. "After all, what evil tyrant needs a place of audience?" 

Slash sighed. "To the point, my friend. Why are we here?" 

Megatron didn't answer, but prowled along the walls, checking them. He barely aknowledged it when Slash followed him, so absorbed was he with the ancient building, but the walls remained bare. _No,_ he thought despairingly. He had come all the way down here, and he wouldd not leave empty handed. 

Slash was silent, spending the time on looking over the hall. With a little imagination, he managed to envision Megatron the First as he returned triumphantly, the ancient court of an ancient race saluting him. But Slash blinked, and the image was gone. He sighed softly and turned his attention back to his friend. "There's nothing here." 

"There has to be!" snapped Megatron back, voice edged with hysteria. "I refuse to've come all the way down here and see nothing!" 

"Suit yourself," growled Slash, moving from the wall and towards the middle of the room. "Once you're ready to leave you can tell me." He stopped in the middle of the dusty floor and looked around. Everything had been reduced to barely visible shadows. Except... _Primus._ "Megatron!" 

"I'm not done here!" growled the other mech. 

"Megatron, I think I found it!" Slash sped up, heading for the corner to the left of the throne, where a glint of gold had caught his attention. 

Megaton's head snapped up. "What?" He squinted, spotting the shadow that made out Slash and followed. 

Slash grinned, brushing at the thick layer of dust covering a splendid, if somewhat antique mural. "Yes! This is it." He turned to looks at Megatron. 

The purple mech stopped next to his friend and gaped what Slash had already uncovered. "Yeess...!" Reaching up, he too started brushing off the ancient work. 

Slash rubbed at something akin to cobwebs, then froze. "Megatron? I think I found that remaining relic..." 

Megatron gave him a curious look. His fellow student had sounded uncharacteristically meek. "What is it?" 

Slash motioned weakly at the wall, stepping back. 

After a last odd look, Megatron turned his attention to the mural. And froze, optics wide. 

Slash rubbed his own optics, a shudder snaking its way down his back, and the memory of a current news report returned to him. 

    _"With the opening of the new Cybertropolian museum,     the Elders have allowed for one of the most sacred Autobot artifacts to be exhibited,"     the reporter said, smiling professionally.     "So holy and precious is it, that only Autobots and high-ranking Maximals will be allowed in to see it,     but today we've recieved special permission to film this, most important historical relic."
_

"Primus, Slash..." Megatron choked, hands falling to his side. "They didn't just erase our history. They stole it for themselves..." 

On the mural - held up by Soundwave, a legendary Decepticon - as in a mockery of the two Predacons' beliefs, glittered a depiction of the Golden Disk. 

***

Above them, over sewers and tunnels and layers of forgotten tombs, rested present day Vilnacron. A bustling metropolis, and the city that was counted the finest of the Predacon areas, not that it meant much. It was from here the Tripredacus Council conducted their business, when not in safe orbit around Cybertron. 

But like in every other Predacon city, the inhabitants had quickly found that unless they were very high-ranking, or an informer to the Maximal peacekeepers, there was no way to lead a legal lifestyle and still survive. So it truly was every mech for himself, with no choice nor opportunity to free themselves of that life. Though, even among a destitute people, there is honour, and the Predacons were no different. In some still pulsed the Spark of a warrior, and their honour was that of battle and faith. In others pulsed the Spark of a survivor, and among them there was the honour of thieves, all of it looked over by the resident "king of the underworld" for each town. 

These mechs were those that had done well for themselves, and the ones to whom all thieves, murderers and frauds would have to report to, and at times even ask for help. Each so-called king had his own connections to the higher powers, and knew well how to bribe and black-mail. 

_And of course we should stick together,_ thought Knight, "ruler" of Cyclopa, scratching his steel-grey armour while listening to his fellow overseer, Deathwing of Darkmount. Bored out of his mind, he nodded absently. _His personality is as banal as his name... But! Stick together. Remember, stick together._

"And of course I always thought that the whole operation was pure idiocy, so when they asked for help, I just--" Deathwing's listing of arrests within his mercenaries were cut off suddenly. 

"Gentlemechs. Forgive my lateness." 

Both Knight and Deathwing stood up, greeting the overseer of Vilnacron. It was fitting that the king of the greatest city, and thus the most powerful, should also be the largest of them all. And as he now stepped in, armour in shades of white and icy blue, Cryotek towered over his two colleagues, amber optics amused at their respect. 

"Doesn't matter, Cryotek," said Deathwing, smiling a bit. "Me and Knight have been talking, swapping amusing stories." 

"Right," Knight agreed weakly, "amusing." 

Cryotek smiled back and nodded. "Good. You both know the reason we are here..." 

Deathwing scowled and slammed one fist into his other hand. "That thrice-damned proposal for razzias the Elders came up with." 

"And if you didn't, you certainly do now," Cryotek dryly informed Knight, and recieved a snort of a amusement in return. "While I have no particular problem with this, the two of you seem slightly... unsettled by it?" 

"Not all of us know how to woo the peacekeepers for our own gains," Knight told him, trying to get his accent, which tended to snub the words, under control. 

"Indeed." Cryotek gestured for them to follow him into his office. "And now you're asking me for help." 

"That is the logical thing to do. You have... connections the rest of us don't," Deathwing told him, shrugging. 

Cryotek sighed and settled into his chair, letting the others sit as well. "I know how to use my mind, and I know what the Maximals want to hear. My _connections_ are frail, and they certainly don't extend to the Elders." 

Deathwing fidgeted, while Knight crossed his legs, pondering. "And why, colleague Cryotek, are you not worried about this... razzia?" 

The blue mech smirked crookedly. "I have my reasons. And I've made sure to hide my goods well." 

Deathwing leant forward, giving the larger robot a pleading look. "Where?" 

"Ah," Cryotek said, raising a finger in reprimand. "That would be cheating." He settled back in his chair, comfortable, looking over the two. "I don't see how you expect me to he--" He stopped abruptly. 

Deathwing looked down at his beeping comm, an abashed expression on his face. 

"It is impolite to have an open comm at a meeting," Knight informed him innocently, while Cryotek hid a grin behind his hand. This was more than just simple poking; no one wanted a stranger listening in on private meetings, after all. 

Deathwing coughed and tapped the comm. "Excuse me," he told the two, before turning to the caller. 

"As I was saying," Cryotek continued to Knight, talking quietly for Deathwing's benefit, "I don't see how you expect me to help you. I'm busy of my own accord. There are dozens of unregistered labs and thieving nests around here, and I have my hands full cleaning them out before the razzia. I don't want sharpened supervision in Vilnacron because of a few amateurs." 

"I see what you're saying," Knight quietly said back. "But of all the mechs who'd know how to get us safely through this, you'd be the one with the best plan. I only wished that you could share it with us." 

"I have my own neck to worry about," Cryotek told him, frowning slightly. "It sounds cold, but I really can't be bothered with anyone else's." 

Any reply from Knight was cut off by a sharp, "_What_?!" from Deathwing. "Well, what do you expect _me_ to do about it?! He's _your_ student!" He angrily shut down the comm. 

Cryotek raised an optic-ridge at him. "Trouble back home?" 

Deathwing sighed tiredly. "Laserblast, the mech in charge of the Academy in Darkmount, he's lost a student. As I've promised protection for the Academy, he expects me to send out my people! Why he doesn't tie that little bastard down I'll never understand..." 

Knight snorted and Cryotek chuckled. "I see. Chronic troublemaker?" 

Deathwing smirked a bit. "With a name like Megatron, how could he not be?" 

Knight widened his optics. "I think I feel sorry for the poor boy. I'd hate a name like that." 

"Wouldn't we all," smirked Cryotek before leaning forward. "To business! Now, Deathwing, as I was telling Knight, I have trouble of my own to deal with..." 


	7. Ch 6: The Hard Path to Home

**Pity the Child**

_There's nothing certain left to know   
And now the cracks begin to show!   
--"Nobody's Side"_

Okay, so this took a while, and as compensation, you're getting two chapters! :) Okay, a chapter and an interlude, but hey... Thanks again to Albedo and MeRLin, from whom you could all learn a valuable lesson: _review_! ;) And usagihunter, who now gets the "more" he/she asked for. :)   
Warning: more villainising of the Autobots and Maximals. Why? Cuz it's fun. ;) 

***

    **Chapter 6: The Hard Path to Home**

The roof flew past, no more than four hand-breadths above his head, yet he didn't seem to notice. Sitting on the top of the Cybertropolis Express, legs folded beneath him, Slash noticed very litlle but his friend, lying spread-eagled next to him. 

"Did we really want to know this?" Megatron asked, voice nearly inaudible over the roar of the transport. 

Slash blinked, optics focusing on his friend, rather than a point beyond him. "No... No, I don't think we did." 

Megatron sat up, the wind tugging at him as if wanting to throw him off the transport. "And why not? Is history not worth some amount of pain?" 

The tan robot shook his head and looked away. "No. Battle is worth pain; long forgotten history is not." 

"But it is a battle!" Megatron shifted, helmet coming dangerously close to the ceiling, before he settled down, legs crossed. "It's a battle to restore the glory of our past!" His optics turned sly. "Our honour..." 

Slash scowled at him, dangling his legs over the side of the transport. "Don't be ridiculous." 

Megatron sighed. "I'm not. We have this information; now how can we use it?" He stared at nothing, chewing at his lower lip. 

Slash gave him a vaguely surprised look, then shook his head. 

What they've just discovered; Slash was still stunned over the audacity, the _lengths_ the Autobots and Maximals had gone to, not just taking the relic, but claiming it as their own. The ruthlessness was frightening, coming from what were considered merciful and just beings. And the realisation of, _If they can do this, what can't they do? What more are they hiding?_

But Megatron. Slash frowned as his companion again. Megatron had an ability to switch mental directions in a second, and it was a deeply frustrating quirk, often leaving Slash or whoever else the purple mech was talking to stranded in a conversation. Appearantly, this talent extended to the theft of their history, and the use thereof. 

"I must admit, it's quite brilliant, yeess..." 

Slash started and blinked at Megatron. "What is?" 

"Well, the very idea." Megatron grinned and shifted again, leaning closer to his friend. "The best way of hiding, is always to be right under your enemiy's nose. Robots in disguise, remember?" He demonstratively tapped a small metal plate on his chest, one of the bumper shields of his alternate mode. "So of course, they hide it so we know where it is, but still can't see it. Why would we want to? It is, after all, supposed to be a _Maximal_ relic..." His voice turned bitter at the end. 

Slash didn't know whether to be relieved that Megatron did have a reaction, or to be nervous about the pure fury reflected in his voice. 

"The question, though," continued Megatron, once again calm, "is what can we do with this... Is what is on the Disk worth our lives - which we will give, should we step forth - or on the other hand, is it too valuable to lose should the Maximals feel threatened and destroy it?" 

"Only they know," growled Slash, kicking idly at the hull of the Express. 

Megatron sighed and flopped backwards, once again sprawling on the metal surface. "Yeess... That is the problem." 

"It's not simply a problem, Megatron," Slash said quietly. "It's an obstacle we cannot overcome. How would we convince anyone? You couldn't even convince me till today, so how hard will those who matter be?" He looked away. "Face it, my friend. This is beyond hope." 

"No!" Megatron sat up abruptly, scowling at Slash. "That's not true! We're Predacons, warriors by nature! We will keep fighting, remember?" 

Slash shook his head. "No. You're right, we're Predacons." His voice rose. "And we're not even allowed in inner Cybertropolis, let alone the Museum of Cybertronian history! Don't you understand? There's _nothing we can do_!" He still didn't look at his friend, the stunned silence stretching out between them. 

A soft sigh. "I know. Too many have tried, and all have failed." Megatron rubbed his optics. "I just... I just don't want to believe that it'll always be like this. Rationed Energon, forced territories, peacekeepers telling us why _we're_ wrong and why our ancestors were pure evil." 

Slash looked over his shoulder at him. 

"For once," Megatron continued, "I'd like to be able to take a stroll through Cybertropolis without people looking at me as if I'm below even the dirt we walk on. Not hearing someone say that my kind doesn't belong there." 

Slash pulled his legs up and sighed. "The Tripreds are--" 

"The Council is doing nothing!" Megatron snapped. "They talk of glorious peace, and how things will be better in the end, if we merely co-operate! Why should we be the ones to give in?!" 

Slash leant back and looked up at the ceiling, silently. 

"It's not supposed to be that way! It can't be, noo," continued Megatron, scratching absently at the hull. 

Slash looked back down, eyeing his friend with mild annoyance. "You talk too much, Megatron, of such airy ideals that even your namesake would not take them in his mouth! Give it up. We're stuck where we are till the Elders deem us worthy as equals." He slid to the other side of the transport, waiting to roll off when the reached the tunnels under Darkmount. 

Megatron sighed and followed, whispering quietly to himself, "But that's exactly it. Why must we wait for _their_ approval?" 

***

Leonus disappeared into the dark, and Surge frowned, throwing a wary look over his shoulder. "L-Leonus? Are you s-sure it's safe in t-there?" 

"No," drifted the voice back at him. "But this is where their scent leads." 

Surge sighed and followed, nervously switching his optics to infrared. "It-it's very dark..." 

"Yes, it is," murmured Leonus back. "But they both seem to've cheerful--_AIIGH_!" 

"Leonus!" Surge tripped, shuffling around in the dark, optics wide. "Leonus! What happened?!" 

Silence. 

"_Leonus_!" 

"I'm... I'm okay..." 

Surge scrabbled in the direction of the voice. "Where are you? What happened?" 

A soft scratching and a sound of effort. "A pitfall... I was too focused on the scent..." 

"Are-are you okay?" squeeked Surge. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." He managed to drag himself up over the edge. "That was too close..." 

"You... You don't think they fell in there, do you?" gulped Surge, peering cautiously over the edge. 

Leonus shook himself and rose to all four, throwing the hole a near insulted look. "That's where the trail goes, so yeah, I do..." He carefully leant over the edge, squinting into the darkness below. "I can't even see where it ends." His voice echoed strangely through the shaft, returning distorted along with another voice. 

"Leonus?" drifted weakly up from the depths. 

Leonus blinked and clawed nervously at the metal under his paws. "Slash?" he called. 

"How did you find this place?" another voice echoed - Megatron. 

"I followed your trail! Not that it was particularly easy. Next time, leave a better scent, okay?" 

"There won't be a next time," answered Slash snappishly. "Hold on, we're coming up." 

Leonus stepped back, sitting on his haunches next to Surge. They waited, listening to the sounds of the two other students making their way up. Finally a blood-red pair of optics peeked over the edge, closely followed by a pair in shades of pink and magenta. 

Surge stepped forward to help them up, and a soft whirr by his side told him that Leonus had transformed to do the same. Together, the four quickly shuffled out of the dark building and into the alley. Slash and Megatron both squinted and covered their optics. 

"Too bright," muttered Megatron tiredly, leaning against the wall. 

"Where the Pit have you been?" Leonus demanded, glaring at them both. "Laserblast is ready to kill you!" 

"Isn't he always?" chuckled Megatron wryly, answered by a snort from Slash. 

"It's not funny!" snapped Leonus, going into responsible-student mode. "What were you _thinking_, coming to this part of town?!" 

Megatron smirked a bit, but shrugged, attempting to look innocent. "Wanting to see the lives of the common folk...?" 

"Don't get smart-alecky with me," growled Leonus, looking rather feline, even in his robot mode. 

"L-Leonus," Surge interrupted. "We s-should get b-back as-as soon as p-p-p-possible." 

Leonus sighed and calmed down. "You're right..." He smiled tightly at his friend. "And take it easy, Surge; You're a bit hard to understand." 

Surge nodded, twitching. 

"You two," Leonus growled, glaring at Slash and Megatron. "Back to the Academy. Now!" 

Megatron muttered under his breath, but headed off. Slash chuckled, sending Leonus an apologetic look. 

The lion-bot sighed and patted Surge on the shoulder. "Let's go." 

As the four students disappeared into the mass of people on Darkmount's streets, a mech leant against the wall, smirking in satisfaction after them. Surge and Leonus, had they looked back, would have recognised him as Darkmist. 


	8. Interlude I: Wandering Child

**Pity the Child**

  
_Note: For those who don't know, a stellar cycle equals a year, not a month, as stupid me used to think._

    **Interlude I: Wandering Child**

Wandering child, so lost, so helpless   
Yearning for my guidance...   
--"Wandering Child", the Phantom of the Opera 

~

_    Thrust, stroke, thrust, parry... 

The swords clash, and I easily divert the drone's attack. Nightshade is pleased. I can feel it radiating from her like a weak heat, and I am happy. She so very rarely shows appreciation for her students, but then, I always were the best swordfighter in Darkmount. 

    Parry, parry, stroke, feint... 

The other students in my class are watching, trying to see what I do right and they do wrong. Some of the younger students are there as well, having gotten off from class for one reason or the other. 

    Stroke, thrust, feint, thrust... 

I feel like a circus attraction, the way they stare. 

    Parry, stroke... 

Well. That was easy. The drone's head now lies on the other side of the fencing room. I sigh and stand at guard, ignoring the cheers from my audience, as another drone take its place. It is monotonous, but neccesary. 

    Parry, feint, thrust, parry... 

So I'll toy with this a little. Primus knows I need to occupy myself, and the drones are a great way to work out frustrations. After all, nary a day goes by when the thought of the stolen Golden Disk doesn't pop into my head. It's annoying, especially considering it's been three stellar cycles since our trip to Old Vilnacron. 

    Parry, stroke, parry, parry... 

Megatron, of course, could be to blame. There are times when he will not stop talking about the infernal thing. He has been quiet lately, though, but that could be contributed to that first-cycle kid that's taken to following us. The little brat seems to worship Megatron. 

    Feint, stroke, parry, thrust... 

The child has probably heard every so called injustice the Maximals have commited against us by now, and by the way he gawks at Megatron, it seems he wants to hear more. Like most others, ever since Megatron learned how to talk to crowds. I'll never understand that... 

    Stroke, feint, thrust... 

~

The mechs around me break into applause as Slash casually disposes of the second drone. I merely grin flippantly at him, and he responds with a disgusted look. Ahh, the joys of friendship... 

He squares off against another drone, which he will also defeat, natch. I sigh and look to the only other mech who did not applause. Dreadnought - I've no idea why he was named that; his alt-mode isn't even a nautical craft - sits next to me, chewing on one lip in concentration, hunched over his schoolwork. 

A faint gasp runs through the crowd as Slash comes dangerously close to a sweep of the drone's sword. 

Dreadnought looks up for a second, absently eyeing the situation on the floor, then turns back to his datapad. I vaguely envy him; it must be strange and oddly gratifying to focus your being on one, single thing, without considering whatever else may run through your head. 

Behind me a pair of femmes giggle, whispering Slash's name amongst themselves. While not as rare as they were during the War, femmes are still scarce and the two are part of only thirteen female transformers in the Academy, most of them infatuated with my friend. 

I nudged him once, as we were leaving a class, asking with a leer if he was ever going to give any of them a chance. In true Slash-style, he looked at me as if I were a dead cockroach. I taught him that glare, by the way, but he seems to use it more than I ever do. 

Dreadnought sighs and chews on his thumb. A bad habit of his that he keeps promising to break, but never seems to hold to. 

I slump a little, rather bored. Slash is a good fighter, but watching him for a good megacycle is not the most stimulating expirience one can have. But then, I have nothing else to do; other than complaining about Maximals, of course, and everyone's getting a bit bored with that by now. 

Except for Dreadnought, though I attribute this to the fact that my young friend is quite religious, going to the Temple of Primus regularly, so I guess boredom is something he's used to by now. Heh... 

He offered that I go with him once, but I declined. Call me blasphemous, but the idea of worshipping a dead deity - or whatever the Pit he may be - just doesn't hold that great an appeal to me. 

Slash disarms the drone and skillfully slits one of its exposed main cables. Once again, applause sounds around us. I tiredly check my chronometer and sigh in relief as Nightshade declares the demonstration period over. 

_


	9. Ch 7: Sword Dance

**Pity the Child**

  
_Ahh, sorry for the long delay. ^_^;; Here it is, finally, as we move into a slightly more political/evil-Maximal storyline... _

Thanks to all the reviewers. This is for your sake. :D 

Also, if you haven't, go read Albedo's Cybertron Chronicles. She was inspired by this story, and she's drastically improving the idea. ;) 

    **Chapter 7: Sword Dance**

_Communist, democrat   
An intriguing collusion   
Fair exchange - tit for tat   
Comradeship in profusion   
--"The Deal (No Deal)"_

    I: Amber 

Elegant robes of Emysarian cloth pooled around the whitish-golden femme as she knelt gracefully before the altar of Primus. She was slender and beautiful, with optics like the sky at high noon, and her helmet decorated with a stylised star, and kneeling reverently before a priest of Primus she seemed an angel to the many Maximals in the temple with her. 

One would think she was kind and virteous, looking upon her in her pious glory. One would think she was a gentle leader of mechs, a caring mother of thousands. One would think that her smile was sincere and her affection true. 

One would be wrong. 

"Elder Aurora." She turned to face the peacekeeper, and he bowed. "We have news on the... possible situation in Darkmount." 

"I am praying," she rebuked him, her voice soft and tingling, her face a pretty mask of grace. "You should as well. Politics has no place here." And she smiled a smile so gentle and unreachable that it was obviously rehearsed. 

The peacekeeper, like so many others, didn't care and smiled nervously back, awed. He knelt by her side to pray. 

Aurora looked down and waited patiently for the priest to finish his duty and leave so she could signal the assassins. He would never criticise the Council of Elders again. There was, after all, no room for discent among the peaceful Maximals. 

***

    II: Lapis Lazuli 

It was a strange building, a mix between a grandeous mansion and a military camp in the Decepticon days of old. It stretched up, up over Vilnacron with its spires, and spread out among the other structures with wings and corridors. At the very top of the very highest tower glinted ice-blue, as Cryotek looked out over his city. 

He sighed and turned, heading in from the balcony. Inside, in his private study, were art and gizmos from around the galaxy. When he'd grown rich, the leisures of paintings and sculptures started appealing to his freshly-hatched aestethic sense, but the strange, ticking machines were there for his perpetual love of science. 

_Once a labrat, always a labrat._ He quietly murmured for the balcony door to close and smiled at the green femme lounged in a chair. "Verdant. I didn't hear you." 

She smiled back, standing. "You had your head in the clouds." This was followed by a pearly laugh which Cryotek politely laughed along to. 

"Just came to visit, then?" he asked, running his fingers along the lines of an ancient figurine from the destroyed planet of Quintessa. 

Verdant's green optics glinted with another perfect smile. "I missed you." 

"That's sweet." 

When Cryotek seemed more interested in studying his artifacts than her, the femme deflated, pouting slightly. "You've been so quiet lately." 

Cryotek sighed, turning his attention to a study of Anduvelisian Morgrogs. "I've had a lot to think about. The Elders are becoming... testy." He frowned. 

Verdant shrugged. "Well, so what? Bribe them." 

Cryotek turned to look at her. The silence stretched out for a while until Cryotek finally sighed. "You're beautiful, gorgeous, but thinking's never been your strong suit. Leave politics to me, all right?" 

The green femme shot him an insulted look. "Fine." She watched the crimelord intensely as he moved on to a Ttekish Lewppan rattle. He seemed tired... 

"Would you please leave, Verdant? You're distracting me." Cryotek poked boredly at the rattle. 

Verdant grinned. "Thanks. But okay; all right. I'll leave you to your dusty sticks and stones." She swayed out, slightly insulted when he didn't even bother to look. 

***

    III: Fool's Gold 

"Too long have we fared under Maximal oppression! Too long we've subdued to their will! It's time, now, to _strike back_!" 

The exclamation was met by a resounding cheer, for a second deafening the bustle of the Darkmount market. Slash looked over at the grey and tan mech, standing on the pedestal of a statue, crying his rebellion into the crowd. "Primus, all mighty... Why are we listening to this?" 

"Because," Megatron answered absently, "he has a point. I want to know what he intends to do." 

"The same as everyone else with a point; absolutely nothing." Slash shook his head and turned back to study the finely crafted swords in the weapons booth - black market, of course. Weapons were not allowed according to the Maximals. 

Megatron turned, smiling loopsidedly. "I thought I was the cynic, my friend." He disinterestedly picked at a dagger. 

"Hrr, I decided to give you a break," answered the warrior dryly. 

The purplish mech chuckled, looking around. "Now, where did Dreadnought run off to?" The smaller Predacon was nowhere in sight. 

Slash shrugged indifferently and was about to speak when a commotion made him hesitate. "Ah. Seems the Maximals have caught wind." 

Several peacekeepers were bashing their way through the throng of Predacons, trying to reach the seditious speaker before he could disappear into the crowd. Their efforts proved futile; instead they turned their frustration to the crowd, and all hell broke lose. 

"Figures," muttered Megatron, pulling Slash away before the false wall hiding the weapons store could hit him as it slid down. 

Slash frowned, stretching a little. "I've found your little pet." He pointed. 

Megatron squinted, cursed and then hurried into the battling mass of people, trying his best to avoid the peacekeepers. "Dreadnought!" 

The small mech squeeked, "Here!" helplessly, being pushed and pulled around by the mob. He gasped as a peacekeeper raised a stun rod to strike him, only to suddenly find himself off balance, caught by Megatron. "Wha'--?" 

Megatron frowned at the speaker who grinned at him. "Tell your pal to be more careful, young'un." And he disappeared once more, slipping easily through the flock. 

Half dragging the smaller mech out, Megatron hurried towards Slash. "Let us depart, yeess..." 

Slash snorted and nodded, helping Dreadnought up straight before moving away with due haste. 


End file.
